


an honest liar, taking on heavy fire

by dragongirlG



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aphrodisiacs, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Collars, Come Shot, Dehumanization, HYDRA Trash Party, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Identity Porn, Leashes, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Overstimulation, Podfic Welcome, Predicament Bondage, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sex Games, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, one bar prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongirlG/pseuds/dragongirlG
Summary: Steve is captured by the HYDRA STRIKE team after the fight on the highway in DC. He wakes up trapped on a one bar prison, forced to participate in a come-shooting game that he never agreed to play. The Winter Soldier wins Steve as his prize, putting on a show of fucking him before unexpectedly helping him escape.
Relationships: Hydra Agents/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 215
Collections: Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2019





	an honest liar, taking on heavy fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/gifts).



> Happy HTP Holidays, BrighteyedJill! I hope you enjoy this. 
> 
> Thank you to ZepysGirl for the excellent beta work and to sassbandit for introducing me to the idea of a one-bar prison.
> 
> Please note that I reworked some of the dialogue from _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ to fit the context of this fic.

Awareness comes in stages, none of which are pleasant.

First, Steve notices the darkness. He can't see, because he's been blindfolded.

Next come his arms. Thick, cold metal cuffs wrap around his wrists, forearms, and elbows so that they're bound together behind his back in a straight line. The position strains his shoulders, pushing his chest out uncomfortably, and that's when Steve notices: his chest is bare.

Bare of clothing, at least. There's something else on it, dry and itchy. Wax or paint—or, he thinks with disgust, bodily fluid of some kind. It spans his entire torso: his pecs, his abs, even his nipples and belly button, dipping down to his groin. There's an odd pressure there, like—

Steve jerks. There's something up his ass.

He stays very still as he takes stock of the rest of his position: metal cuffs on his ankles that are connected to each other by a chain; a leather collar wrapped around his neck, padlocked at his throat: an attached metal leash hanging down his spine. He's completely naked, and he's standing, feet flat on the ground. If he can push himself upward enough to dislodge whatever's jammed up his rectum—

"Sir, he's awake." That's Murphy's voice. He's an intern who does data entry for the STRIKE team—mostly inventory. He's HYDRA too?

"Welcome back, Cap." Rumlow laughs. "It's about time. I thought you were going to take another century-long nap."

A burning rage rises within Steve as he recalls the fight in the elevator, the subsequent destruction on the highway bridge—and Bucky, staring blankly at Steve, not even recognizing his own name. Sam had knocked Bucky to the ground, grabbed Natasha, and fled; only then had Steve surrendered, let Rumlow and his goons apprehend him and him alone.

"How do you like your new digs?" asks Rumlow, interrupting Steve's train of thought.

"They're not exactly comfortable," says Steve, keeping his tone mild. "Is this what passes for HYDRA hospitality?"

Rumlow snorts. "Always knew you had a sense of humor under that tight-ass exterior." He chuckles. "Speaking of which, we had a hell of a time getting that dildo up your hole. You a virgin, Cap?"

"None of your business," Steve answers, and he quickly puts on his best impression of a curious old man. "Say, what is this contraption, anyway? Some kind of sex toy that's in trend these days?"

"You like it, huh?" Rumlow chuckles. Steve works to keep his face neutral at the gall of that comment as Rumlow continues, "It's called a one bar prison. It's a long pole that goes up your ass and keeps you right where we want you. We tested it on the Asset first. We were kinda hoping to use it on the Widow, shove it right up her cunt, but having you is even better."

Rage rushes through Steve's blood at the thought of HYDRA doing this to Bucky or Natasha. He takes a deep breath, refusing to rise to the bait, and allows himself a moment of relief at the news of Natasha (and presumably Sam's) escape. Then he turns his attention back to the situation at hand. "This whole setup seems awfully inconvenient to me. Dangerous, too. You sure you didn't cause any damage fitting me onto this bar?"

"You don't need to worry about any of that, Cap," says Rumlow. Steve can practically see the smirk on his face. "We gave you the same thorough prep as the Asset."

"Glad to hear it. How long are you going to keep me on this thing?"

"Just till we finish playing our game."

"What kind of game is that?" asks Steve, carefully brushing his fingertips against the pole holding him in place. If he can get Rumlow talking long enough, then he might be able to figure out a way to gain some leverage.

"Sir, sir!" Murphy again. "Cap's trying to—"

"I see him, kid," says Rumlow, circling around Steve and wrenching his arms away from the pole. He grabs the leash hanging down Steve's back and jerks it upward. "Get up on your toes, Cap."

Steve does, if only to keep his air flow from being cut off. Rumlow pulls and pulls until Steve is practically _en pointe_ , and then he attaches the leash to a hook above Steve's head. Rumlow also uses another chain to hook the arm cuffs to the collar. A sick dread sinks into Steve's bones: he can't come back down on the balls of his feet—or reach for the pole—without choking himself.

Rumlow whistles as he steps back. "You're looking good, Cap."

A cell phone camera _clicks_ a few feet away, and a few seconds later, Rumlow is tugging the blindfold down, shoving his phone screen in front of Steve's face. Steve's trussed up just as he suspected, and a mocking imitation of his shield is painted on his chest, complete with a star on his solar plexus. His face heats with humiliation, but before he can respond, Rumlow's replacing the blindfold and stepping away again.

"Murphy, go get the rest of the team. I'll finish prepping Cap."

"You still haven't told me about the game," says Steve, twitching as Rumlow runs his fingers along Steve's thigh.

"The only thing you need to know, Cap, is that you're the prize."

Steve grits his teeth as Rumlow pinches his thigh and slides in a needle, injecting a cold liquid into Steve's veins. "What is that?"

"Our tried-and-true method for getting the Asset to play. It should work just as well on you." He slaps Steve's ass, chuckling, then calls, "Cap's ready!"

In the distance a door swings open, letting in a rush of people.

"I get first dibs," Rumlow announces. "Cap—are you feeling it yet?"

"Feeling what?" asks Steve, and then it hits: all at once, heat rushes through his blood, his balls tighten up, and his cock fattens up—and he becomes hyper-aware of the dildo nestled against his prostate, how it's hitting just the right spot to make him want more. Steve bites down on a whimper, sweat beading his skin.

"There it is," says Rumlow, laughing as he wraps his calloused hand around Steve's cock. "Let's see if you can beat the Asset's record."

Rumlow begins to jerk Steve off. Steve tenses, pressing his lips together in a futile effort to resist, but he quickly gets caught up in the aphrodisiac-induced storm of pleasure, panting and whimpering and squirming as Rumlow accelerates his rhythm. Trapped between the leash and the dildo pole, there's little he can do but take it.

His orgasm comes more as a relief than a surprise. Rumlow grunts and presses Steve's cock flat against his belly, painting Steve's chest with come. A little gets into Steve's open mouth, and he grimaces, trying to spit it out, but Rumlow slaps him on the cheek. "Swallow it, Cap. Murphy, go get me the spider gag."

Steve tries to bite when Rumlow shoves the gag into his mouth, but he's too slow. There's little he can do as Rumlow straps the gag tightly around his head, forcing his mouth to stay open. Steve's garbled curse just makes Rumlow snicker, so Steve subsides into seething silence, pulling fruitlessly against the cuffs on his arms as his cock throbs again, ready for another round.

Rollins goes next, then Westfahl, then Mercer, then Hanford; Steve loses count after that, caught in an endless, agonizing wave of urgent need, interspersed with fleeting moments of relief that leave Steve lightheaded. Over his scattered periods of clarity Steve figures out the objective of the game: to get Steve to come on the star painted on his chest. The closer to the star the come lands, the more points the player earns. If any come somehow reaches Steve's mouth, the player gets an additional twenty bonus points.

The secondary objective of the game is to see how many times Steve can come before he's spent. The Asset's record is apparently fifteen.

By the time Murphy finally gets his turn, Steve's cock is sore and starting to chafe, even with the generous amount of lube slathered on Murphy's palm. After what seems like an eternity of uncomfortable yanking, Steve's cock spasms weakly, its tip emitting a few drops. Murphy steps back with a nervous, "I think Cap's done, sir."

"Done?" Rumlow echoes. "Yeah, that cock looks pretty limp to me. Anyone have the final orgasm count?"

"Fourteen, sir," says Murphy.

"Fourteen, Cap. Not bad. You're almost on par with the Asset."

"Why don't we see if the Asset can put him over the edge," someone jeers.

"Good idea," says Rumlow. "Rollins, Johnson, go get the Asset from its cage."

The door swings shut as the two leave. Rumlow starts to tally points and talk highlights with the rest of the agents gathered in the room. He's the apparent winner by virtue of being the only agent to get come into Steve's mouth. Steve tunes out the chatter, limp and suspended, his toes practically numb from balancing all his weight upon them. Drool drips down his chin and falls onto his chest, which itches with flaking paint and cooling sweat. His heart pounds a sluggish rhythm in his ears.

When the door opens again, the room goes silent. The agents seem to be holding their breath as Bucky strides toward Steve, his heavy, uneven gait echoing loudly on the stone floors. He stops in front of Steve, barely a foot away, silent and waiting.

"You recognize this little setup, Asset?" Rumlow asks. After a pause—Bucky must have responded somehow—Rumlow adds, "Do you recognize who this is?"

There's another pause, and then metal fingers brush against Steve's face before tearing off the blindfold. Steve blinks rapidly as his eyes adjust to the cold fluorescent light. Bucky is dressed in a black long-sleeved T-shirt, black pants, and black combat boots. Various HYDRA agents are gathered behind him, scattered in the far corners of the room.

"Do you recognize this man?" Rumlow asks again.

Bucky tilts his head, eyes rapidly searching Steve's face. Then he cuts a glance at Rumlow and shakes his head.

Rumlow smirks. "I figured. We're playing a little game with him. You know what to do, Asset, don't you? You're usually on the other side of it, but we figured we'd let you have a little fun for once. In fact, as the current winner of the game, I'll even make you a concession: if you can make Cap come again, you can have him for the night."

Something flickers in Bucky's eyes, but he doesn't give Rumlow a response. Instead, he traces the painted shield on Steve's torso with his metal fingers, spreading trails of wet come over Steve's pecs.

"Bucky," Steve tries to say, but it comes out as more of a strangled moan.

Bucky cups Steve's chin with his flesh hand, gathering the drool dripping out of Steve's mouth. He reaches down and fondles Steve's balls, rolling them gently between his fingers before wrapping his spit-slick palm around Steve's soft cock.

"Bucky, don't," Steve pleads, still rendered unintelligible thanks to the gag. He closes his eyes, a hard lump forming in his throat. In his lower moments after waking up in the future, he'd fantasized about having sex with Bucky again, but never like this—devoid of tenderness and privacy, both of them mere objects of entertainment in a cruel public show.

"Does the Asset even know how to get someone off?" Murphy questions.

"It should after all the training we've given it." Steve doesn't recognize the darkly amused voice.

"Asset!" Rumlow calls. "Use your metal hand. Hurry up now, we don't have all fuckin' day."

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, tensing as metal encircles his still-soft cock. The sensation is odd, but not wholly unpleasant, and when the metal hand lurches upward, neither skin nor hair catches on its ridged plates. Steve's face burns as his cock starts to harden yet again, much to the HYDRA agents' delight. The assembled crowd starts catcalling Bucky, hooting and hollering and egging him on.

"Look at that! Little Cap's still got some life left!"

"Who knew Cap was such a kinky bastard?"

"Maybe we should try the humbler on him next—a little metal around his balls…"

"Come on, Asset! You can do it! Strip that all-American cock!"

Steve bites down hard on the metal bars of the gag, unable to stop his moans as pleasure begins to build. Bucky's grip tightens, and his pace becomes relentless, punishing; stars spark behind Steve's eyelids as Bucky roughly thumbs the tip of Steve's cock, smearing pre-come down Steve's shaft, using it as makeshift lube as he jerks from shaft to tip, over and over in one smooth motion. Steve's moans transmute into helpless whimpers, and his hips jerk forward minutely as his cock desperately seeks friction—and then an overwhelming, desperate need jolts through him, and a raw scream tears out of his throat as come splatters onto his tongue, salty and bitter like the tears trickling down his face.

Someone thumbs gently at the wetness on his cheeks. Steve opens his eyes in dazed surprise; Bucky's standing in front of him, his blue-grey gaze curious. There's something like triumph on his face, mixed with a little relief. Steve only has a moment to wonder if Bucky remembers him before Bucky's turning away and facing the HYDRA agents fanned out across the room—many of whom are red-faced and panting, with stains spreading across their crotches.

Steve wants to kill them all.

It's Murphy who breaks the silence. "Sir, I—I'm not sure how to tally this. The Asset landed his shot straight into Cap's mouth. It's all in there, every single drop."

Rumlow whistles. "Let's call that a hundred points, Murphy. There's no way we can let such a skilled shot go unrecognized." He casually zips up his pants, wiping his hands on his thighs before doing a slow, exaggerated clap. "Good job, Asset, I didn't think you had it in you. Looks like you get to keep Cap for the night. Give him a hosedown first. I'll come and take him back tomorrow." He reaches into his pocket and tosses a set of keys to Bucky, who catches them without blinking. Rumlow smirks, then clears his throat and jerks his head toward the door. "Come on, everyone! Let's let them have a little private time."

Bucky stands unmoving in front of Steve until all the agents have cleared out. Then he turns and grabs the leash, detaches it from the hook on the ceiling, and wraps it around his wrist and fingers. He also detaches the arm cuffs from the collar, tossing the chain to the side before kneeling to test each key on the pole.

Steve moans with a mix of relief and pain as the attached dildo finally slides out of him with a wet squelch. He gingerly lowers his arms and shuffles forward to squat on the balls of his feet, hissing as his calves and shoulders cramp immediately at the sudden change. Bucky watches him with wary eyes but makes no move to help, standing six feet away with the leash slack in his metal hand.

When Steve is getting ready to stand again, finally feeling like he can without falling over, Bucky jerks the leash forward, making Steve fall ungracefully onto his knees. The cuffs on Steve's ankles clang as they hit the stone floor. "Bucky," Steve tries behind the maddening gag, sending Bucky a pleading look. Bucky ignores him, tugging on the leash as he walks forward. The concrete scrapes against Steve's bare knees as he's forced to shuffle along so he's not choked or dragged. His shoulders ache from their bound position, and his mouth is parched from being held open and exposed to the stale air.

The corridors are seemingly empty as Bucky pulls Steve through the base, though Steve's enhanced hearing picks up whispers and jeers from the distance. No doubt HYDRA has a surveillance feed recording every second of Steve's humiliation. Steve's fingers curl into fists behind his back at the thought, and he forces a blank expression onto his face even as his blood burns with hatred.

Bucky finally removes the gag when they reach a locker room, forcing Steve into the corner of a tiled shower stall and looping the leash around the short shower head. Before Steve can get a word out, Bucky turns on the water, a freezing, high-pressure spray that feels like a relentless hailstorm specifically targeted to pelt down onto Steve's head. Steve flinches, shivering so hard that the cuffs on his arms and ankles start to rattle, but the temperature doesn't seem to bother Bucky, who steps into the water fully clothed, not even bothering to take off his boots.

Bucky squirts industrial soap from the dispenser onto his metal hand and proceeds to use it in lieu of a sponge, roughly scrubbing the dried sweat, crusted paint, and other grime from Steve's body. Steve makes a weak, protesting sound when Bucky probes between his ass cheeks, clenching as much as his frozen muscles will allow. Bucky retreats at once, but not before spreading Steve's ass cheeks so that the water hits his hole dead center. Steve yelps at the acute pain, involuntary tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Thankfully Bucky doesn't hold him there for long.

By the time Bucky turns off the shower, Steve can barely hold himself up. He leans limply against the wall, shudders wracking his body as he tries to get warm. Bucky huffs and unlocks the cuffs around Steve's ankles and arms, tossing them out of the stall carelessly before grabbing a towel from a nearby shelf. He briskly towels both of them down, shaking his own dripping hair out of his eyes like a dog, then unloops the leash and pulls Steve up into a standing position. Steve wobbles, grunting in surprise as Bucky swiftly jams a knee between Steve's legs, squats down, and hoists Steve over his back in a fireman's carry.

The world weaves in and out of Steve's vision as Bucky traverses down the hall. Steve's embarrassment rears its head at his vulnerable, exposed position, especially when they pass some tittering guards standing outside of a heavily fortified cell. Bucky places his metal hand on Steve's ass, squeezing possessively as the guards herd them in through the door, jabbing the barrels of their guns into the small of Bucky's back.

Bucky dumps Steve into the corner and starts pulling off his own sodden clothes, tossing the pieces under the small sink next to the steel toilet. The cell is otherwise bare, bright fluorescent lights overhead illuminating nothing but concrete floors and walls. There's not even a blanket or a mattress. It's a cell meant to torture someone with isolation, Steve realizes, and Bucky's had to endure it for who knows how many years.

"Bucky," Steve whispers, heartbeat quickening as Bucky, naked, slowly stalks toward him. Even through all this, Steve still hasn't been able to determine if Bucky recognizes him. "Bucky, it's me, it's Steve—"

Bucky grabs Steve by the shoulders and pins him facedown on the floor, wrenching his arms behind his back and binding them together with the leash. Steve's heart sinks with a terrible realization: perhaps Bucky's too far gone; perhaps Steve's been dealing with the Winter Soldier—and only the Winter Soldier—this whole time. He rests his cheek against the floor and grits his teeth, bracing himself as Bucky straddles him and reaches under, splaying his metal hand against Steve's belly.

_Tap. Press. Press._

Bucky grips the makeshift leash harness binding Steve's arms together and lifts his hips, making a rutting motion over Steve's ass without actually touching him.

_Tap. Press._

Steve exhales slowly and gives a tiny nod. Bucky speeds up the pace of the Morse code, but keeps air-thrusting his hips in the same rhythm. _WAIT_ , he finishes spelling, and then continues, _FOR. MY. SIGNAL._

Steve nods his head a fraction to show that he's understood.

Bucky leans down, the ends of his wet hair tickling Steve's neck as he noses under Steve's jaw. "I know you," he whispers as he speeds up the pace of his hips, creating a draft of air over Steve's crack.

Steve's vision blurs with tears, and he nods again, throat too tight to speak.

"Steve," Bucky breathes into Steve's skin like a prayer, and he does a few exaggerated thrusts before gently dropping his weight on top of Steve, taking a few heaving breaths as if he's just had an orgasm. His cock is soft and dry, and the rest of him is pleasantly warm. If Steve ignores the collar, the bondage, and the metal arm, he can almost pretend that it's 1938 and he's in Brooklyn, sleepily cuddling with Bucky in a post-sex haze on their lumpy mattress instead of lying on the hard, cold floor of a concrete cell.

Bucky unties Steve's arms and shifts Steve onto his side, fisting the leash in his metal hand. The two of them doze for a while, skin pressed to skin, Bucky's arms wrapped tightly around Steve's waist. Bucky occasionally drags Steve over to the sink and sticks his head under the tap so he can drink some water. At some point, the lights dim, and Steve makes a move to get up. Bucky holds him back, shaking his head minutely, and Steve reluctantly subsides, waiting impatiently for Bucky's signal.

Some time later—seconds, or minutes, or hours, Steve can't tell—the lights flicker and turn off completely. Bucky quickly retrieves the keys from his pants and removes the collar from Steve's neck. Then he hands Steve the clothes he was wearing earlier: underwear, a black T-shirt, and black cargo pants, still slightly damp; squelchy combat boots that are only a little tight on Steve's feet.

Bucky circles around Steve and wraps something around Steve's face—the blindfold, Steve realizes; Bucky must have pocketed it. He'd always been smart, Steve thinks, breath hitching; HYDRA hadn't managed to take that from him.

Bucky takes Steve's wrist and pulls him close. "Ready?" he asks gruffly, his voice barely audible. "Everyone's occupied with doing perimeter checks. The locks on the door should be deactivated thanks to the timed charge I put on the fusebox earlier, and your face should be hidden well enough to fool the cameras. This is your chance to run. Go right until you hit a fork, then left, then up the staircase through the trap door."

"Come with me," Steve pleads. "Bucky, please."

"I can't. There's a tracker in my arm that I can't get out, and besides, we're outnumbered. You need to go and get reinforcements before coming back." Bucky trails his fingers along Steve's cheek, gently pressing his forehead against Steve's. "We always find each other in the end. Go." He spins Steve around and herds him to the door, pushing it open carefully. Then he nudges Steve past the threshold before disappearing back into the shadows of the cell.

Steve takes a deep breath and steps into the silent, empty hall, heart aching as he leaves Bucky behind.

* * *

Steve finds a coded message waiting for him at his, Sam, and Natasha's planned rendezvous point, which leads him to an underground base hidden in the power station of a dam. It contains a skeleton crew of ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, including Nick Fury—who is apparently not dead—and Maria Hill. Steve waves away Dr. Fine, promising he's only sustained minor surface injuries, and goes to find Natasha and Sam. Both are sitting around a table, eating MREs and protein bars. Natasha has a bandage wrapped around a bullet wound in her shoulder; Bucky shot her on the overpass. Sam doesn't have any major physical injuries, but he looks exhausted from worry.

"How did you get out?" asks Natasha.

"Bucky helped me," says Steve, gulping down a protein bar.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" asks Sam with a frown.

Steve takes a huge sip of water, trying to buy some time. The food sits like lead in his stomach. "An old friend of mine." More than that, but he can't admit it—not to them, not yet. He makes himself continue, shifting as he tries to find a comfortable position for his sore ass. "HYDRA turned him into the Winter Soldier."

"The Winter Soldier," Natasha repeats slowly. "The Winter Soldier is—"

"Bucky Barnes?" Sam interrupts incredulously.

Steve nods, his throat tight. "We have to go back for him."

"Back up a minute, Captain," says Fury, wheeling himself into the room. "According to the history books, Bucky Barnes died in 1945."

"So did I," Steve says, realization dawning. "Bucky's unit got captured in '43, and Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did must have helped Bucky survive the fall."

"You didn't know, Steve," Natasha says quietly.

Hot tears gather at the corners of Steve's eyes, and he forces them down. "I should have realized. I should have _looked_. All that time I was in the ice, HYDRA must have been brainwashing him to fight for them, to forget who he was. But they didn't completely succeed. Bucky knows me. He helped me escape last night."

"Are you sure he didn't just set up some giant, elaborate trap?" asks Fury, crossing his arms over his chest. "For all we know, he could be tracking your location and leading HYDRA to this base right now."

"It wasn't a trap," Steve says firmly, even though he doesn't have much evidence to prove otherwise. He lifts his jaw. "Bucky is my friend. And he's an ally."

"Well, I don't see any bogeys heading our way," Hill announces, strolling in with her laptop, "but that doesn't rule out the possibility of a future strike."

"So what's the plan?" asks Sam, looking between Steve and Fury.

"We go back to the HYDRA base, get Bucky, and burn HYDRA to the ground," says Steve.

"Hold on a minute. We've got a larger-scale problem to worry about. You can rescue your BFF once we've rescued the free world." Fury tosses a photo of Alexander Pierce on the table, shaking his head in disgust, and then opens the briefcase in his lap. He and Hill lay out a plan to destroy the Project Insight helicarriers by pointing them at each other through decoy targeting chips. "If we succeed," Fury adds, "we might be able to salvage what's left of S.H.I.E.L.D.—"

"No," Steve interrupts.

Fury raises an eyebrow.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is HYDRA." Bile rises in his throat as he sees the faces of the HYDRA agents who participated in the "game": Rumlow, Rollins, other men and women with whom he trusted his life every day. He thinks of the bystanders caught in the fight on the highway overpass, the tipped-over bus full of panicked passengers, the civilians running desperately for cover amidst a hailstorm of bullets. "Too many people have already gotten hurt because of this, and HYDRA's been growing under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s nose for years without anyone noticing. It all has to go."

Fury sighs deeply, looking around at each person at the table. His glance lands on Hill.

Hill nods stiffly. "He's right. You're right, Cap. S.H.I.E.L.D. can't come back from this."

Fury takes a deep breath and lets it out, sitting back. "Fine. It's your call. And I—" Fury clears his throat. "Look. I'm sorry. I didn't know about Barnes."

"Would you have told me if you did?" Steve retorts, the rage and horror he's been suppressing bubbling to the surface. "Or would you have compartmentalized that too?"

Fury clears his throat. "Honestly? I don't know."

Steve swallows hard and shakes his head. "I need some air. Call time, one hour." He swiftly turns and heads outside the base, stopping on top of the abandoned dam, gripping the rail tightly as he forces air into his lungs.

"Hey." Sam approaches him cautiously. "You all right?"

"Fine," says Steve, clearing his throat.

"Okay," says Sam, "because, you know, this is kind of a lot. Finding out your best friend isn't dead, finding out your employer's actually been your enemy all along…it's a hell of a shock."

Steve's laugh is bitter. "Yeah. You could say that."

"You know," says Sam after a long silence, "You didn't exactly say what happened in that HYDRA base."

Steve's shoulders tighten. "It doesn't matter. I got out. Bucky got me out."

"If you ever want to—"

"I know." Steve rubs the back of his neck, heat rising in his cheeks. "Thank you, Sam. I appreciate the offer."

Sam nods, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You think he'll be there? On the helicarriers?"

"I don't know," says Steve. Bucky let Steve escape; HYDRA must be punishing him for it. Steve exhales on a long breath, fists clenching at his sides. "I hope so."

"We'll find him," says Sam. "Whether it's during the mission or after."

"Thanks, Sam," Steve says quietly,

Sam nods. "I'm going to gear up. See you inside."

Steve spends another five minutes outside getting his roiling emotions under control. Then he straightens his shoulders and walks back into the base to start preparing for the mission with Bucky's words echoing in his ears: _We always find each other in the end_.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Adam Lambert's "Heavy Fire." Listen to the song [here](https://youtu.be/RGYNcDqogR0) and read the lyrics [here](https://genius.com/Adam-lambert-heavy-fire-lyrics).
> 
> Comments, kudos, and transformative works are always appreciated! Please let me know what you think; I would love to hear from you.
> 
> Come say hello: [Tumblr](https://dragongirlg-fics.tumblr.com/) | [Dreamwidth](https://dragongirlg.dreamwidth.org/) | [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/dragongirlg)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [art for: an honest liar, taking on heavy fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24929719) by [thefilthiestpiglet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/thefilthiestpiglet)




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